


Harvest Moon

by EnchanterQuiet



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Flashbacks, Introspection, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25343194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnchanterQuiet/pseuds/EnchanterQuiet
Summary: Shady's back baby...one year later... let me be very clear that this is a Daenerys/Jorah fix it.So, this is officially where the story picks up where I left off. I haven't forgotten this. I can't say we see many of the other characters as this is very much a character study of a head cannon I keep thinking of. I do have very grand ambitions for this work that could easily become 100,000 words, but unfortunately I've discovered that my writing style is not best suited to instalments. I would really appreciate if you make it to the end where I can best explain my absence in the notes.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	Harvest Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Heeeeeeeyyy everyone, so its been roughly one year since I uploaded 'The Look of Love' and I am so unbelievably grateful to everyone who had read, commented and left kudos on it. Never in my life did I think that people would actually like the things that I wrote. Hopefully it doesn't come across as too cringey. I have to say that not a lot happens here in terms of battles or anything, this feels like a long form character study of the head cannon that I have been thinking of. 
> 
> I don't want to give too much away as I believe there are a few surprises in store for you all. I would recommend listening to 'Harvest Moon' by Neil Young to once again set the scene.

They had fallen asleep again for a few hours more, wrapped in each other's arms. Evidently anyone who was still alive left in Winterfell were all still deeply tired from the battle, funeral and feast. There were barely any servants around to call on and Missandei had not called on Daenerys either. Without the threat of an untimely interruption, Dany was brought back to the white forest in her dreams again.

She stood in front of the massive bleeding weirwood tree. The black pool at her feet, softly rippling in the slight wind. 

A thousand voices surrounded her, almost reminiscent of the sound of crawling beetles and scarabs she heard when her and Jorah were pinned under the wights. But still not threatening, merely rustling. 

“ _ The Golden Dragon....the dragon will come...and unite the children of this world under a Golden Sun…the Sun will shine and bring forth an endless Summer…”  _ they whispered to her repeatedly.

The idea of an endless summer at this point sounded heavenly to Dany, the winter she had experienced was brittle and took the lives of hundreds of thousands. Could this really be a new beginning of peace and prosperity? There was too much war in this world, Dany had concluded; too much suffering and pain. If there was anyway that she could put and end to it all and make people see that there was more to life than conflict and turmoil, she would gladly take it.

But she was cautious. Dany had heard prophecies before, they were full of promise but were nothing more than broken dreams and nightmares. Mirri Muaz Durr had taught her this lesson before. Actions had consequences, those who gambled their lives and others so carelessly without greater reflection paid the price the most. She would not let this happen again. There were ways to subvert the will of the gods and she would not let herself be abandoned by them again. She had to strengthen her resolve.

She felt movement around her, Jorah had adjusted his grip around Dany’s waist and was now burrowing deeply into her neck.

“Have we ever slept for so long?” He cooed into her ear, his voice warm and throaty.

“I think we’ve earned it, don’t you?” she replied with a yawn as she arched her back into his body. He was all over her, easily the most comfortable she had been in a long time. She reached her right hand up behind his own neck and threaded her fingers through his hair as he kissed under her jaw and down to her shoulders.

“I’m certainly not complaining” he laughed slightly, “but I am worried that any moment the door will burst open and we will be caught out. I should probably leave soon” he added, a little sadly.

The thought of even being separated for another moment was enough to break Dany’s heart but she conceded that they were now in the midst of conducting an affair. They would have to be very careful, should anyone apart from Missandei discover them together, it could lead to disaster. It bothered her immensely that although he was now a redeemed war hero, they both were; it still would not be enough to win her any allies at the moment. She had wanted to bring about a radical change to the country, and to do that she needed to play nice and show everyone that she was not as corrupt as every other leader had been, even when her family had ruled. The only way she could ensure the rejuvenated longevity of her house was to show that Dany was indeed the better alternative. 

They still had a long way to go. The idea of being defeated by Cercei’s forces were actually laughable now and they real work started the moment she sat on the Iron Throne. She had so many ideas and reforms that she wanted to pass. Although the blood of soldiers and civilians had dirtied the land around her, she recognised a moment for opportunity. Life comes from death and in the darkness, there will be light. There will be  _ sunlight _ . 

Dany had a realisation. Maybe that is what the voices had meant?  _ She would be eclipsed by her own greatness,  _ it was an interesting notion. That even the mysterious forces beyond her control had enough of the bloodshed and winter. And Jorah would help her accomplish this hopefully, after he has conducted his plan. She was deeply curious about his endeavour, she had not known him to be one for politics and government, perhaps that is why his advice was always the best course of action. Jorah was a man of motion and did not care to be weighed down by endless papers and negotiation, like Tyrion or Varys preferred. They played the game in their own way, and she and him had theirs. 

“I think I may have been divinely inspired” She said to him blankly as she turned to lie on her back. Jorah was propped up on his left elbow, gazing down at her and running his right hand up and down her bare chest

“You have? Sounds interesting, tell me more” he said bowing his head down to kiss her breasts.

“See, the thing is that I can’t really tell you more. My dreams have been very cryptic as of late, however, my resolve has been strengthened.” Dany replied has she cradled his head to her chest. He brought his head back up and bared down at her.

“Well, if you say so. I have to say, I have also been inspired to make some changes and start anew.” he breezed at her. Her rested his cheek on his right hand and with his left gently traced her facial features. Jorah was aware that he only had a certain amount of time left to stare at her without any limitations to their contact, no prying eyes. He bent down and kissed her fully on the lips, which she responded in kind, he was such a good kisser, Dany thought to herself. Other men had been far too possessive of her mouth, when they stick their tongues down her throat as if they were trying to swallow her own. It was far too intrusive, Jorah merely enjoyed the act. It was easy and sweet.

They kissed more and more, the freedom to do so was too overwhelming for either of them to resist otherwise. Dany let him roll on top of her, feeling his hardness strain against her belly. He moved to attack down her neck, at the same time he hooked both his hands under the crook of her knees, he spread them widely and pushed them higher so her kneecaps came up to her breasts, he thrust down into her without entering only brushing against her core. Dany let out a pleased moan as she scraped her nails up, down and across Jorah’s back and shoulders. He moved from her neck back up to her mouth with a little more urgency as he claimed her, moaning deeply as he did so. 

Their intentions were clear and she was already missing his warmth inside her, Dany sped things up by reaching down in between them and stroked him a few times before guiding him into her. They shared a moan into each other's mouths at the connection and heat. It was far, far easier to accommodate his size now that her body expected his intrusion.

He pulled away to look down at her mussed hair and look of helplessness, Dany’s eyes were hooded and dark, her mouth half open. Jorah moved his hands from her knees and boldly hoisted them over his shoulders. The action brought their bodies closer together than ever before. The unstoppable force against the unmovable object. 

Jorah’s blue eyes gazed at Dany’s face intensely as if he was studying her every expression as she reacted to the slow, long, thrusting of his rock hard cock deeply into her. She could only stare back in a speechless response. Dany eventually responded by dragging her nails down his spine and placed them firmly on his ass, grabbing a handful as she felt his hips gyrate rhythmically and forcefully pound her. It was now Dany’s turn to feel more possessive; she released one of her hands and brought it up to his neck and pulled his head down firmly onto her shoulder prompting him to moan sensually deep into her ear. They wanted to be as close together as possible, for they both knew that this brief happiness of thiers could not last that long; not realistically.

In an instant it seemed their mutual climax sneaked up on them. Jorah pulled his head back to look down on Dany again and then kissed her while the last of his seed dripped into her. Her heart had never felt so full before as laid his head down upon her heaving chest. The air had been sucked out of the room whilst they were fucking but now that they had stopped their movements, they had suddenly became cold and shivery. Another long period of contemplative silence ensued, Dany had pulled Jorah on top of her and was using him as a blanket. She could not ever imagine being more safe and secure with another person than she did at this moment. 

She could feel him chuckle slightly above her;

“Hmmm. I’m not crushing you, am I?” he said delicately.

“Oh, believe me, I would have told you if I didn’t like it. I’m happy where you are.” She replied as very lightly traced the tips of her fingers over his shoulders, revelling at the muscle she found there, pinching it slightly to ease the tension he seemed to perpetually carry.

Jorah smiled into the crook of Dany’s neck, “you must tell me, after all this time, why have you rewarded me….with such favour? You knew I never thought this could happen, ever, and I was resigned to that fact. Why have you now let me into your heart?” There was such sweetness in his timbre, such honesty. He still clearly believed that he was not worthy of her affection.

“Because I knew…” She held him closer, fully wrapping her dainty arms around his neck, breathing into his ear, “Because I knew that if anything were to happen to you, I would never be able to bear it. Surely, you must know that I never wanted anything to harm you, I Wanted to punish you but I knew one day that I would be able to find the strength to forgive you and welcome you back to the fold. I felt lost without you and no one was ever able to fill your place. Not Daario, or Tyrion and not Jon Snow. I believe that perhaps we are an odd pair that was made to be together and I never want to be separated from you again.” she ended her declaration by kissing his cheek and closing her eyes tightly, almost horrified by the blunt force of her words, leaving her soul bare.

Jorah responded by nearly smothering Dany with his embrace, he held onto her so tightly, as if she was the last raft from a sinking ship. He sank deeply into her arms, kissing along her jaw.

“You’re my most favourite thing in this whole world. Gods, I love you, woman” he positively moaned as he crushed her with a fierce hug.

He pulled his head from her neck to press his forehead and nose to hers, breathing in deeply. They stared at each other again, oh, how their love could be shown through looks alone. Dany placed her hands on either side of Jorah's head and lightly traced along his sideburns and stubble. They stared longer.

After minutes, he took in a long gulp of air and said softly “what have you done to me?” 

Dany blinked. She actually wasn’t sure what she had done or even at what point he had realised his feelings for her. Her love certainly crept up on her, rather unexpectedly she conceded, although there was always a persistent attraction to him. She didn’t want those feelings to cloud her ruling mind so she pushed them down. In time, she almost started to resent him. She wondered if it was the same for him, love doesn’t happen at first sight after all.

She smirked lightly, “I care about you”

“Ah, then that’s the difference” he replied with a warm smile.

  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

They had been on the road for weeks. It had been raining for weeks. It had been muddy...for weeks.

Everywhere their horde had seen for miles was torched and tortured. The Riverlands were long known as the fighting pits of Westeros. Where the grand Kings, Lords and Generals played Cyvasse with the lives of the commonfolk, as if they were only pieces on a game board. Every town they passed from Moat Cailin and through the Neck that had once been prosperous was deserted or burned. 

“What happened to the people here?” Daenerys had asked Tyrion quietly as they sat atop a high slope, observing the waves of remaining Unsullied, Northmen and the pitiful remnants of her Khalasar move through a stretch of muddy swamplands. Although they had two weeks to officially prepare for the invasion of the South in Winterfell, there was a general mood among the combined forces of apathy, impatience and shock.

There were not a lot of people who have seen the dead rise, fought it off and survived. It was obviously getting to the Alliance.

“Well, we are nearing the Twins. I suspect a great many of the abled men were conscripted to fight for the Freys or Bolton’s” replied Tyrion nonchalantly.

“Or the Lannister’s and I burnt a lot of that army to the ground” tested Dany.

“Indeed”

No one was in the mood for more fighting, she supposed. Everyone wanted this song and dance over with quickly.

“Do you think your sister will be open to another parlay? Not organised by you of course, but if I can somehow make the case that if I unleashed all this rage, King’s Landing might never recover and she will probably be hung, drawn and quartered before she’s arrested. I can control myself, the Dragons and the people are what I worry about. I’ve had this problem before with vigilante justice and it did not go well at all...

...I doubt the Alliance will see this as much of a challenge to them. They may become...overzealous and whatever they do to her will be far worse than anything I can.”

Dany paused and noticed Tyrion’s contemplative silence.

“We also have your brother. Has she lost his support too?”

“I’m sure she has by now. Cersei isn’t who she once was. She is different, some other creature entirely and she doesn’t care. That’s what terrifies me the most. How can you negotiate with someone who doesn’t give a shit?

I also worry about morale too. Should any of this go wrong, it will hurt the cause and doom your reign from the start. We are riding high on our success and victory, if we start raping, pillaging and torching every populous we see, we will be no better than what my father has done to this country. Above all, I don’t want that to happen. I know that it was he who gave the first order to desecrate the Riverlands.”

Dany used this as an opportunity to show her diplomatic side to Tyrion;

“We are not a movement based on blood rites and vengeance. Jorah once told me that my ancestor Aegon did not take the country because it was his right, he did it because he could. I do not want to be that for my people. I am the Mother of Dragons and the Mother of Slaves. We are liberators above everything. That's why we are different, it’s why we are better than your sister. I promise you we will rebuild the new world from the ashes of the old one. That I hope you can believe.”

Tyrion raised his eyebrows, “you’re a true revolutionary, your Grace” he finished with a nod.

“I’m trying.” Said Dany, coolly.

Dany sat astride the largest horse she had ever rode and the experience was enlightening to say the least. She was told it was a Gypsy Vanner, a mare and that it was one of the most powerful beasts in the North, other than her own Drogon and Rhaegal. She was twice the size of the Silver Drogo had gifted her on her wedding day and she was certainly not as graceful. This was a true beast of burden, she had been used to pull caravans, trebuchets and cages in the snow, sleet and mud. It was decided that in the unlikely event that their army was attacked by Cersei’s forces or an ambush by either the river or mountain clans, Daenerys would need to be out of there to her dragons faster than anyone else, and she needed a horse up to the task.

Apparently, she originally belonged to one of Stannis Baratheon’s generals and somehow after every war in the last few years was still alive and kicking. It was deduced therefore, that she was a lucky horse with a good temperament. Dany named her Aurora, after her epiphany and renewed will power. In the three months they had been on the road, she constantly dwelt on the significance of her dreams. They were the same every time, she would be naked walking through the forest with her golden shroud. The whispers would get louder then fall until she reached the black pond and the white weirwood tree. They would start up again, rambling about golden dragons, the sun and how her legacy would burn into the world.

It had become maddening and repetitive. There were no answers to her many questions, no clues. There had to be a reason as to why now her visions became so lucid. 

Well… there was one answer, she concluded.

It was something to do with Jorah.

If Dany wasn’t spending time planning her invasion of the South, she was thinking about him. 

And the way that he looked at her. And touched her. She remembered the utter feeling of wholeness when she felt him inside her. Pulsating and vibrating with life and joy, something that she had felt missing her entire existence. Sometimes she would look into the black pond and see his face.

With the ecstasy came the come down and she would have to remember how truly far apart they were. In position and physical distance. They had agreed, before Jorah was finally able to regain his senses and drag himself away from Dany and their bed, that they would keep a noticeable distance. A ruse, to be sure. The further they were apart from each other; in the eyes of thousands that would see them fall individually, as well as together, they would be able to throw them off the scent and as such, it would be the best course of action. It would be easier for everyone else to assume they had some sort of argument (as they were prone to do), than for anyone to think that they were ‘involved’, as it were. 

It was only an hour or two before sundown, Dany had felt a knot tie in her stomach the whole day and would be grateful for the rest and privacy her tent provided.

“You don’t look happy,” said a breezy common man.

Dany took a sharp turn to see who called her out without her title, but deflated a little when she saw the melancholic Davos Seaworth slink up to her position on his Chestnut Stallion. He looked pale and sickly, he blended in well with the moss covered rocks and boulders that surrounded their position.

“I’m not sure now is the time to be jovial, Lord Seaworth.” Said Dany.

“She is right. We have to remain focused” added Tyrion.

“Aye, I don’t deny that. I understand the seriousness of the situation. But I believe something troubles you, my Lady. You do not look well.You do not need to put on a brave face. I’ve been on many campaigns in my life. More than I’d liked to have had to participate in. You’ll be of no use to no one if you get sick. Never mind the Iron Throne.” Davos countered.

It was true, there  _ was  _ something else troubling Dany. The closer she got towards the Trident, the sicker and more nauseous she felt.

“My brother died not far from here.” She struggled to say. She had never known Rhaegar, but she grieved for him, for what he could have been. For the life Jon and his mother could have had. 

Dany, swallowed her emotions. She was used to doing this. It was her only way of coping thus far with All her pain. Bottle it up. Push it down. Pretend Like it didn’t bother her. She took a sharp breath through her nostrils and gripped her reins around Aurora tightly. She wanted to cry but didn’t.

“Aye” said Davos.

Tyrion likewise deflated with Dany.

“He was the best King we never had” he said finally.

“No he wasn’t. He violated sacred laws, just like my father did. He knew better, he could have stopped him. Would anyone have begrudged my brother if he had staged a coup? It could have all been different.”

“Yes, that is sad and upsetting to think about but would he have truly been a better ruler? Better than you?” Asked Tyrion.

“It would have saved me a lot of pain.” Replied Dany flatly.

With that, she kicked her stirrups and trotted towards the head of the column. Her thoughts were a black cloud over her head. She heard Drogon and Rhaegal screech in the distance. A second later, an almighty bang erupted from the dark sky, the lightning had struck purple. It had started to rain again.

_ Good. _ Thought Dany, no one would notice her tears in the downpour

  
  
  


It had been another two hours that they were on the road before they made camp and Dany was determined to be in a sour mood for all of it. 

That was until she saw Jon Snow astride his mount, lonely and looking towards the riverbank. Their party had made great time, evidently. 

In the months that had separated them from the Long Night, she had more time to reflect on his monumental revelation. Before, she felt a sense of bitterness toward him. After everything, she still never really knew him that well to be so inclined. He was now her only living relative and that changed things. 

It was because of her ancestors' indiscretions that had caused so many problems for not only herself, but the whole continent. Again, Dany thought of the many, many people who had to die because tyrants said they had to. For what cause? What gain? Did it ever make anything better?

_ No _ . She thought angrily.  _ Nothing ever changed. _

She couldn’t hold it against him though. Jon was a good man, just not the man for her and now there were too many good reasons as to why they should no longer continue their parlance.

“This must be the most South of The mainland that you have ever been?”

She asked him tentatively as she approached.

His expression was stone, perhaps there was a family 

resemblance that was not limited to silver hair and violet eyes. They also looked miserable as sin in the same way.

_ That’s comforting. In a way. _

“It is.” Said Jon Snow.

_ Well this was going to be easy. _

“You know where you are, I’m sure?”

“I do.” He replied as he continued to fail at looking passive.

“I never thought I’d ever be here, you know. I always thought my brother... _ ahem _ … my  _ other _ brother would be the one leading the army.”

“It’s funny how things work out.”

Dany snapped, “look, I don’t know what you want from me now. I don’t have any other living family like  _ you _ . Maybe you’ve struggled, I’m sure, but that is  _ nothing _ compared to what I’ve lost. Now you’re the rightful king apparently, according to what marriage laws, I have no idea.”

“It’s not a competition, Daenerys.” He said sadly.

“That’s the most ignorant thing I’ve heard you say.”

“That’s not what I meant. I mean to say that I never thought anyone wanted me.” He swallowed, “I never knew I was a part of something...more.”

They were silent for a long time.

“I would have liked to have known him.” He said finally. 

“He wasn’t as bad as you think. I’m not sure what you think of what  _ they _ did. If there is anyone to blame...”

“I do not think she liked Robert. By all accounts, she was not the yielding flower he made her out to be. Apparently my sister Arya takes after her a lot. And I know Arya. She would not have liked to marry Robert either.”

“That’s interesting, it certainly adds more context to the situation. It was the one thing Viserys never spoke or bragged about. He never praised Rhaegar in the way Ser Barristan did. He never mentioned what he did. I think he was always jealous of him, he probably blamed him for our families demise. Viserys was… close to my father.”

_ If Rhaegar was still living, she would have unleashed her fury at him too.  _ This day had been too much for her emotional capacity. 

Neither of them had the energy to speak more. 

“I do not think I will supper with everyone tonight. I need some space.” Said Dany finally. This was very true.

She was constantly surrounded by people, all day she would strategise, attend meetings, give hundreds of orders. This was to be the making of her, the foundation of the legacy and it had to be planned to the very last detail. There was no risking otherwise.

She clicked her heels on Aurora and slunk towards her Unsullied and Dothraki. She needed to find the one person whose presence she could tolerate for eternity.

One of the things that had surprised since the battle at Winterfell was her was the remaining Dothrakis dedication to Jorah. They surrounded him always, taking from his lead. She and him were the only people that they would take orders from and it made sense, as he spoke their language fluently by now. But that wasn’t merely the vibe she got from them. 

The leading elders,  _ kos sakarr,  _ they had called themselves were the unofficial generals of the Khalasar. The Dothraki did not normally follow a typical leadership hierarchy, however, since their time in Westeros, some of them seemed to embrace the tradition. It helped them keep track of who was left. They made camp a few weeks ago, when Dany spent some time catching up with her brethren she had found some of them huddled in their largest tent, gathered in small groups; each person struggling with pieces of chalk and parchment. Jorah was standing in the middle, near to the hearth instructing them in Dothraki on how to correctly hold it.

He was teaching them to write numbers. 

They were all too deep in concentration to notice her presence, when Jorah finally noticed her, his eye lit up and spoke first:

“ _ A lot of the Dothraki do not write or read. All of their history is oral. Only the ones who work in the markets write numbers at the most. They believe that it is for soft men whose hands are not hard from holding reins.”  _ He said excitedly.

Everyone in the tent immediately snapped their heads up from their laps and looked nervously at Dany. 

She had the widest grin on her face, she was truly proud of all of them. She hoped that this was a part of Jorah's grand plan.

“ _ Reading and writing shows intelligence, it means your mind is sharp, just like your blades. Outsmarting your opponent is the surest course to victory.”  _ She said.

“ _ It is known.”  _ Said a warrior woman. She was one of the youngest elders, the only female and not more than forty. Her name was Pallas, she was greatly esteemed in the Khalasar and had never lost a battle. Small, quick and brutal. She could kill you before you even knew it. A native of the northern tribe, her Khal was not Drogo but her father, Zeke until he died and her tribe became part of Pono’s Khalasar. Against every odd, she was clearly very good at staying alive.

That had seemed to be the defining feature of what was left of both her armies. She had surrounded herself with people who could survive at all costs. This was a good omen, thought Dany. 

She looked towards Jorah again, and shared one of their long gazes. She tried to let him know without saying anything, that she wanted him. 

But they couldn’t, they had not acted on their urges and had been very restrained. A challenge to be sure but a necessary step. Ever since that night in the big tent, and every day since they had been approaching the Trident, her mind, body and soul screamed for him.

_ “Khaleesi, I have a note for you.”  _ Said a young man's voice that instantly brought her attention back to the miserable present. A young rider, his braid no less getting longer. His name was Saniq. She wanted to keep proving that she was the right leader for them and so she made an effort to remember their names as best she could. No other Khal would cared that much.

He approached her quickly with his back straight and pressed a small, tightly wound scroll into her hand. She hesitated for a moment and then unrolled it. At first, it made no sense to her, it was written in the same alphabet as the common tongue, but not in words that she recognised. She mouthed what she thought it said and then it clicked. It was Dothraki. And it was in Jorah’s handwriting.

_ “We do not have much time. There is a tent in the Dothrakis camp stables for tack. Meet me there at one. Wear a hood.” _

_ At last. Some good news _ , she thought. Dany rolled the scroll back up and nodded affirmatively to Saniq who quickly hurried back to the huddle around Jorah. They made eye contact a few metres away, she could still see his eyes sparkle in the dark rain. He smiled softly, and nodded to her.

One could not come fast enough...

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Jorah found it too painful to sleep, although that is what he should have been doing, in his current state. He lay drifting in and out of consciousness on his bunk in his decrepit cell. Night blurred into day, the hours stretched on for months it seemed. He had never been in so much pain; sure he had been stabbed and cut once or twice, like any man calling himself a warrior would, but this...was something else. The disease burned every cell of his being and he could feel his own flesh rotting away, turning into stone. He was delirious as he had been ever since it got worse on the ship towards the Citadel. He loathed the fact that he was coming back to Oldtown, back under the nose of the Hightowers. He sweat profusely and had memories that he had long thought forgotten rushing back to his mind, many of them not good. The death of his first wife in childbirth...his screaming matches with Lynesse...the day he was told that if he ever came back to Volantis her new merchant lover would kill him.

_ I suppose I deserve it _ , he aimlessly thought to himself; of course he could not be saved. The Arch Maester said so. His underling looked strangely upset, even apologetic. He was startled when Jorah told him his full title. 

_ “Jorah...Jorah Mormont.” _

_ Of Bear Island, he quietly added in his head. _

That’s what he said and while it was factually true, he didn’t feel like he had any claim to even his identity anymore.

_ Here I am Father, aren't you proud? Of what your name has become? _ He thought bitterly. He wiped a single tear from his eye. He was going to kill himself tonight. He saw it clearly in his mind, him taking his sword quickly to his wrists and then his neck. The blood would paint his cell red and he would lay there, wondering where it all went wrong. The light in his mind would extinguish. The boy would find him, and dutifully inform his master, they would send out ravens to let the world know that Jorah Mormont no longer existed. No one would care, his remains would be burned the next morning, his body crumbling to ash, but unlike his Daenerys, he would not rise from those ashes. His dust would be gathered, blessed with holy rites and pit in an urn. They would belong to Lyanna now, she probably wouldn’t have the time, money or patience to move him to the family crypt, he doubted they could even manage to drag his own Lord father back from beyond the Wall in whatever hell he found his final resting place. The Maesters would probably scatter his ashes into the harbour of Oldtown, the final insult to his miserable life.

Would  _ She  _ care more importantly? She commanded him to find a cure and he failed, like he did to her so many times before. She probably had enough of him by now. She had an invasion to plan and a whole continent to rule as well as her cities in the East. She would be the first person to have a truly global empire and he would not live to see it... To see her resplendent on her throne. That ached the most.  _ Maybe she might live to remember me fondly _ ... he doubted it though.

He closed his eyes and replayed the moments they had together in the wilds of the Dothraki sea, the Red Waste and Qaarth, how long ago it was when all the worries they both had were of the numerous fighting Khals and the Thirteen's wrath. It all seemed like a thousand lifetimes ago.

He tried to give her space in the early days as she clearly needed it, she looked suffocated all the time and felt like he added to it. As the days went on with their endless talking on horseback he had noticed that the new Khaleesi was not as shy as he first thought. She was in fact, quite outgoing and made a noticeable effort to adapt to the language. What he had previously thought of the Targaryen siblings was questioned when he got to spend days with them in the horde. He watched from a distance their interactions; it was all very enlightening, Viserys took every opportunity he could to snap and undermine his sister, occasionally Jorah would step in when their arguments became too severe with a nonchalant comment, usually supporting Daenerys. What he had learned was that Viserys was certainly his father's son. 

He met the Mad King only once in his life, as a sworn sword to Lord Brandon Stark at the Tourney of Harrenhal, so many years ago. 

It had felt so long ago that he thought he had entered the dreams of another man. A completely different man to who he was or grew to become, so proud, Young and noble. He remembered the finery the Southerners surrounded themselves in, their vanity was an empty illusion. He remembered how nice the Spring weather was and how it had made him feel better after the long journey from the North. He had to admit that there was a slight jealousy towards them, everything handed to them on a plate while meagre lordlings like him struggled for scraps. 

Then again, maybe he would be nicer if the weather on Bear Island was better.

At the joust that had irreconcilably changed everything, he sat a row behind the Starks; Lords Rikard, Brandon, Eddard, Lyanna, and Benjen. They too, looking equally uncomfortable and out of place. They looked like caged polar bears. Lyanna had turned and winked at him when some other lordling had rambled on about the Laughing Knight ‘attacking’ some dense squires. He smirked. Of course she would do that. It was a shame, in their pubescent betrothal, Jorah had enjoyed getting to know Lyanna. She was active and always on the move, like himself, she didn’t stay idle for long. He had an inkling that she had grown to like him back in the years he had spent as Lord Stark’s ward at Winterfell. It was customary for a Stark girl to marry into another Northern house. They were only youths, on the barest cusp of adulthood and Jorah suspected that they could have made each other very happy, Lyanna had enjoyed Bear Island when she had visited some months before; but their halfhearted engagement was broken off when Lord Rickard clearly got a better offer in Robert Baratheon. He remembered her soft look:

_ “I’m sorry” she told him rather nervously in front of the Weirwood tree in Winterfells’ Godswood. She fiddled with the petals of a blue winter rose in her hands, she didn’t look at Jorah. _

_ “It’s alright, I know how these things happen, I’m too low born and Robert is more worthy of you.” He paused thoughtfully, “I would have been a very lucky man had it worked out” He said softly to Lyanna. Lord Eddard has returned from his time at the Eyrie under Jon Arryn, his brother in arms, Robert wanted to see the country that made his brethren. When Robert had clapped eyes on Lyanna, Jorah knew it was over. He wasn’t that upset, surprisingly, she wasn’t going to be the first woman well above his station that would claim his feelings. _

_ He was only seventeen, tall, blonde and bright eyed. Trained in every aspect of knight-ship and courtly love. He had liked the idea of striving to be like the famous Arthur Dayne, only in the North, handsome and righteous, wielding his own Valeyrian sword. He could change the world and had his own hopes and dreams that had not yet been dashed, he thought he could do it all. How wrong he was... _

He tried to remember the King and His family. Prince Rhaegar definitely had an ethereal quality about him, as if he wasn’t totally in this world, his mind was elsewhere. He looked trapped in his expensive finery and amour. Although he was polite, he barely acknowledged the people around him, his attendants, his Kingsguard, not even his own mother; his attention was wrapped in Lyanna. Jorah rolled his eyes at the Prince, in many ways he was just like all the other boastful Knights in the South.  _ What would a soft lad like him know about ruling a place like the North?  _

The King lived up to his reputation. He had been scrubbed up to look almost regal or as best as his servants could get him but his skin was sallow and pale. His hair was long and brittle and more closely resembled a donkeys maine... he did not have all his teeth. Despite that, he certainly had a commanding presence, a born-to-rule nature about him. While Rhaegar looked at you and saw nothing, Aerys looked at you and saw every sin your soul had ever committed. There was raw fire in his eyes.

The whole event added to his distrust of the monarchy. He had seen many men who were big and intimidating when they used their muscles, swagger and status to push the lowly around. The King on the other hand didn’t have to do anything to appear terrifying, for it was his natural state. Although impossible, Jorah had a slight feeling that at any moment the King would explode and destroy everything around him.

There had been whispers and rumours for years about the monarch's most peculiar behaviour. It was mentioned in hushed voices that he melted his own servants in wildfire, that he would fuck the Queen whilst they screamed. Jorah had no taste for such gossip, was it really important to them in Winterfell? The Northerners lived by their own rules and the King knew that. Or he should have done. 

The figure in the family that struck him the most was Queen Rhaella, for she looked positively haunted, a mere ghost of the women she could have been. Her lilac eyes whilst still possessing some twinkle, were sunken into her sockets and her cheeks hollow. All the lords and ladies were too afraid to speak to her so they smiled politely and said little. How lonely she must have been. An island in the abyss. He didn’t want to see a woman look so helpless again.

That was until Jorah saw her daughter off to her wedding ‘bed’ trailing behind her horselord husband. Her living son looked pleased with himself, he could see the cogs turning in his mind. He didn’t care what that brute would do to his little sister as long as he got what he wanted.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX 

_ “She should have been mine of course…” Said Viserys, several days into their journey to Vaes Dothrak. Him and Jorah were sitting around a fire with the Khaleesi’s handmaidens, Irri, Jhiqui and Doreah and her own blood riders, Rakharo Aggo, and Jhogo. The young Dothraki barely tolerated his company but he did have the last of the nicest wine, a gift for his sister which he greedly took for himself.  _

_ At the time Jorah had no qualms about selling out this miscreant, for he was utterly insufferable and if he thought he was getting close to invading Westeros, he would cut the young welps throat himself. Until then he remained passive to the ‘dragon’ and spoke only when required of him. He didn’t like that comment though, the poor girl had already been through enough and she had truly surprised him. She wasn’t nearly as entitled as her brother was, and was kind to all her handmaidens and to Jorah.  _

_ She had a lot of questions for him about their mutual homeland and his way of life, it was very endearing to have the attention of such a nice girl who only wanted the information in his head, not his money or titles gl(or lack thereof) _

_ Jorah felt an element of pride when the Khaleesi defied her brother in the Grasslands. He bloody deserved it. Maybe she shouldn’t be the next Queen but she definitely shouldn’t be treated like some common house servant. It was clear to him that the son was like the father and the daughter were like the mother.  _

_ When the caravan had decided to make camp, the Sore Foot King immediately started drinking heavily. When the Dothraki allowed him back into the campsite they ignored his ramblings and drank his wine. _

_ “My father the King took my mother, his sister as his Queen, you well know. I told Illyrio of my family's esteemed tradition. We were the only ones in the world who could do what we did and we earned our rights to keep the blood of the Dragon pure. He would not allow me to take my sister before she was wed. He actually placed his mummers outside her bedroom, The upstart…” Viserys took a wobbly sip from his drinking horn. What he had told Jorah troubled him at worst and downright terrified him at best. This snake would do this to his own sister, what else could he do to anyone who displeased him? _

_ “Yes, your Grace.” replied Jorah without emoting. He also took a long sip. This would be a long night. _

_ Viserys leaned in over the fire pit, his greasy hair shrouded his eyes making him look like a caged beast. He smelled like one too. _

_ “When I have my crown Mormont, I will invade Pentos and hunt that flesh lump down and pull his teeth, tongue and fingernails out. Then he will know not to say no to the Dragon” he warned. The other Dothraki could not understand his slurred speech, even the girl who knew the Common Tongue looked confused. Her eyes darted towards Jorah with a panicked look. He simply nodded back trying to reassure her.  _

_ Irri got up and left in the direction of the Khaleesi’s tent.  _

_ ‘Seven hells, this situation is more fucked up than I realised’, he thought to himself. He was overcome with a sudden protectiveness over the Silver girl. He didn’t want her brother to hurt her and if the Khal had found that he had, he would have all their skins to decorate his tent. There were many things a Khaleesi could do. Being taken by her own brother was not one of them. _

_ The Dothraki did not have many rules, but it was said that the best Filly would make for the best Stallion. Inbreeding created birth defects including slowness and insanity, this would not produce a strong mount. Even the Dothraki knew that, yet Drogo seemed willing to overlook that for the meekness and beauty of the Silver girl. Any man would. _

_ Yet here Viserys was the supposed heir to his ancestors empire, and he was an insane fool, concluded Jorah.  _

_ If only they had dragons...he thought. _

_ The girl intrigued him. She always asked questions, the moment he was ready for the day's ride, she was always there beside him.  _

_ “I have not met many people from my country” she finally admitted, six days on the road. _

_ “And none that I had met wanted to talk to me for any length of time. As if I were cursed by virtue of being born…” she said bitterly, looking around at her surroundings for her brother. _

_ That didn't surprise him. Jorah doubted that there were any in Westeros that were still loyal to the Old Family.  _

_ She leaned into him atop her Silver and said in a hushed tone: _

_ “People think that I am cursed because of my family. The high born of Pentos would look at my brother and I, whenever there was a function at Magister’s Illyrio’s manse… and they would sneer…” _

_ He of course thought that they were jealous, that they could never be like us. The Blood of the Dragon, yet they were the ones with palaces and money and servants.”  _

_ The Khaleesi began to show tears in her eyes, he had supposed that she had no one to speak truth to her words.  _

_ Jorah tentatively placed a hand on her wrist. _

_ “They’re jealous because they wished that they were as beautiful and kind as you.” _

_ “That hasn’t gotten me closer to home though, has it?” she clicked the heels on her Silver and trotted up towards her husband at the head of the horde. _

_ Perhaps she is made of stronger stuff. Perhaps she is more like her mother than he thought. _

XXXXXX XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_ I _ t had been a few weeks on their way to Vaes Dothrak when Jorah’s life changed forever.

He had, despite his degree of separation, warmed to the Girl; her brother’s behaviour seemed to get worse the more she was accepted among her brethren. In a way this pleased Jorah, the more she became independent of Viserys, the less timid and demure she was. He had resolved to spy on the boy but the girl was hardly a threat, he reasoned. The Dothraki only followed the strong and Viserys was not strong. He wouldn’t lead anyone anywhere, let alone a Khalasar to invade Westeros. 

He could kill him in his sleep before any actual damage took place. The Last Dragon, and Jorah would extinguish his fire. Better not, he thought. Varys had not instructed him to do that...yet.

Give it time. Jorah could risk his pardon by acting rashly.

But the Girl, the Khaleesi; he didn’t know if he truly had it in his heart to kill her. She trusted him, she told him of her perpetual life on the run, he sensed her loneliness and isolation. He related to her and offered whatever wisdom he could in order to help her adjust to her circumstances. He noticed that she looked tired all the time, worn out by Drogo at night and constantly on the road by day. She never complained in the way her brother did. She made him smile with their idle chit chat, she didn’t really know or care about his past crimes and she never ventured to question his private life much. She definitely had more important things to worry about. 

Jorah had thought that when he left Longclaw back in the halls of Bear Island’s keep and prepared to escape the King’s justice and flee to the Free Cities with Lynesse, that he would never live the shame down. That all anyone would ever talk about would be his great sin against his people in pursuit of empty love for the rest of his life.

That wasn’t so in Essos, the dredges of Westeros had forever slunk into the Free Cities to start anew and forget about their lot. But the implied agreement was there, that for any Knight to lose himself to the brothels or mercenary companies, he could never return to the homeland in good graces. He had looked down on the people who did that and yet here he was, patsy to the savage Dothraki.

He had become sick of the monotony of the Golden Company and their little victories. They never fought for something meaningful, they merely put down rebellions from the slaves and servants. Maybe on occasion they would engage with the bigger mercenary companies, like the Second Sons or the Brave Companions which would equal a proper fight for Jorah to cut his teeth on. But that would only be in service of one corrupt city official to another. His life lacked meaning, he had concluded. It always had, the men he swore his sword to were either dead, wanted him dead or were another variety of drunken, lecherous fools. The women he married never loved him truly, the only real feeling he experienced was that day on Pyke, when he broke through the Iron Born’s defences second after Thoros of Myr and the moment he was anointed as a knight by King Robert. He believed in something that day: valour, honour, pride. That was all meaningless now in the midst of the Dothraki horde.

He had heard about them as all children had, he had heard of their screamers, their horses, the archers on backs and their brutal way of life. Never could he have imagined though, that one day he would live among them and speak their language, that even the great Khal himself would respect him as a fellow warrior. He was no knight, not anymore but he was a good killer, it was the only marketable skill he had. 

He was introduced to the Dothraki merchants after coming back to Volantis; he was threatened by Lynesse’s new paramour to never return but he stuck around for a few days desperately trying to find a boat in any direction out of that pit.

The Dothraki had just returned themselves from sacking another city or rather, Khal Drogo’s first true fight against another large army or mercenary company after his father died... It was three years before he wed the Silver Girl. Jorah had nothing to lose and the idea of outlaw adventure was indeed appealing. In the tall grasslands of the Dothraki Sea, no one cared about the shame he brought to his father and house.

He lost himself in it. In the open lifestyle, he had bedded some of the women and rode among the Khals Bood Riders when he was able to prove himself in battle.

He was still only a man, and after her wedding, the plight of a damsel reawakened his Knightly dreams. He could kill her brother and protect her instead. He reasoned that he swore his newfound allegiance to House Targaryen; not Viserys.

It didn’t stop him from hating himself the more he grew to care for her and hang on her every word. A humble Queen and one that had known misfortune and fear would be good for the country. She said very little politically but was compassionate, exceedingly so; she would sit with the other Dothraki women of her age, many of whom had children or newborns and it was the only time she seemed genuinely happy; when the mothers would place their babes in her arms, she would smile. Babies are not threatening. They were preparing her for her inevitable motherhood and by all measures, the poor girl didn’t have the faintest clue about pregnancy, let alone raising a Khalakka. Jorah on the other hand, thought that the whole of Westeros would benefit from a caring mother's touch. 

But she was still only a slip of a thing. Daenerys herself could not bring about the demise of the Baratheons, Lannister’s or even Starks, not even with the horde. She would need all different kinds of support, from the nobility of Westeros to the Iron Bank amongst other investors from the Free Cities. She would need to learn the art of diplomacy and negotiations if she wanted to be successful but Jorah doubted if the Khaleesi had the stomach for the game that the snakes at court played.

Perhaps that might be where the Fire and Blood could come in handy. But he wouldn't let her burn people and cause chaos like her father had...

They were only dreams though, and Jorah felt he was only trying to escape the reality of his situation when he replayed his conversations with her in his tent alone after a day's ride. All of their conversations made him smile and he felt oddly revitalised. She would never sit on the throne, and soon enough she would be pregnant by Drogo, maybe then she wouldn’t want her father's throne anyway.

The Khal never seemed to tire of her the way he had his other concubines. She had her own charm, her sweetness and soft look added to it. How could any man resist? But if she wanted to invade she would have to convince him of her family claim, yet her husband had no interest in ‘Iron chairs’ as he called it. None of this seemed likely, the Dothraki would never cross the Poison Water and he doubted that the Westerosi would be convinced enough of her innocence and compassion. There were good Targaryen kings, many of them in fact, but the Mad King left too long of a shadow for his children to escape it. Things would have to deteriorate massively back home for Daenerys to get any kind of welcome party. Robert, although was a notorious womaniser, drunk and all round cur, was supported as it were by Tywin Lannister’s seemingly endless gold. And now even Jorah was in the back pockets of the Lion.

The more he thought about his current situation, the more empty and nauseous he became. It was all far too complex for a simple Northerner like him to understand. 

Jorah, in the moment, seemed able to separate himself from his emotions on the ride back to the nearest village to send another raven. He thought about what to write about them, he wanted to be as vague as possible. 

“The boy is a useless fool. The girl is acclimatising to her circumstances and wants to get away from her brother. The Khal’s patience for him is waning. I doubt he will survive. I will write if there are any changes.”

Simple, yet true. What really was there to say? The Khaleesi was still afraid of her husband and he didn’t seem to care; Viserys won’t last much longer. 

He tried not to think; to remember his mission and the promise of a pardon. He could never go back to Bear Island but he could settle somewhere else, maybe even take the Black and truly prove himself to his father after all.

‘You pitiful loser’ he thought to himself on the solitary ride there.

Maybe he could save the girl, maybe he couldn’t. It wouldn't kill him to show her some kindness whilst in her company, though. 

So… four weeks into their journey to Vaes Dothrak he became inspired to act like the knight in his dreams.

Khal Drogo and his Blood Riders had deigned to go on a hunt for a White Lion, as was custom, to be presented to the Priestesses of the Mountain. He and the majority of his men would be gone for a few days, they would all fight for the grandest hunt in order to please their Khal. This was far more important to the Dothraki than the Silver Girl and her imbecile brother; Jorah and her own Blood Riders, Jhogo, Rakharo and Aggo would be sufficient enough to look after her. Everyone in the Khalasar knew how to fight, however, yet even they were tired of the long weeks on the road.

The camp could do with some levity in the Khal’s absence. Jorah had formulated a plan after many days of listening to the Khaleesi’s misery. Whilst in the last outpost, he used his own coin to find two barrels of the best western wine they had, he also bought a young pig and a cheaply crafted lyre. 

As good as his gifts were, they did nothing to quell the unease and guilt he felt rise like an overwhelming tide in his guts when he thought about her.

The Khal has been gone a day when Jorah returned to the camp. Viserys was nowhere to be seen.

He stopped his approach as he trotted up towards the Khaleesi’s tent. She stepped out with her handmaidens and her eyes lit up when she saw the pig strapped to the back of his mount.

“You didn’t have to do this” she said shyly as she tucked a strand of silver hair loose from her braid behind her ear. She looked paler than usual. She had probably been sick. 

“No, but I wanted to. Even I’m getting sick of dried horse parts. Khal Drogo is celebrating his recent matrimony and you deserve a proper celebration as well.” He looked around at the people starting to gather around them wondering what the Andal was up to now. 

“As proper celebration as can be, given the circumstances.” He nodded to the boys who then unstrapped the pig from his saddle and led off with it for butchering. 

“I also have wine!” He held up two flagons to show her.

She smiled dismissively, “this is too much, you must have paid a fortune for these things. They’re not common here, so I’ve learned”

“Ah, maybe but it’s not just for your benefit. It’s for me, your brother and everyone else. What else are we going to eat now all the hunters have gone?” He said innocently as he jumped off his horse and gave the reins to the horseman. 

Daenerys raised her eyebrow, “that’s a good point” she said as walked toward him, Jorah’s breathe seemed to hitch as she did so.

“Tell me, what are Westerosi weddings like? Have you been to many?” Daenerys asked him.

“A fair few, quite a lot, actually now that I think of it. Seems to be one of the few pastimes the nobility have that don’t involve killing each other” he replied, slightly sarcastically. 

“I’m sure they are more civilised, how many people typically get killed? The grand total was twelve at mine, so I’m told.”

“Well, we don’t typically kill people at weddings, that is considered an enormous faux pas. We normally save that for the battlefield. Weddings are used to bring warring families together.”

“If you end up killing each other on the battlefield, what's the point of a wedding anyway?”

“Love, apparently..” Jorah said flatly.

The Khaleesi smirked, “Whatever you say.” 

He had walked her to her tent, “Have your maidens prep you for a feast.” he asked her.

“Are you sure, what about my brother?” she said timidly.

“I will handle him. I’ll make sure he doesn't spoil the festivities.” Jorah assured her.

She raised her eyebrow and smiled, “I’m sure you will.” she said in an almost sultry manner as she led her handmaidens into her tent.

Jorah had not realised that he was holding his breath and immediately exhaled. This should be fun, he thought to himself.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He found the boy passed out in his tent, the moment he stepped into the dark solitude he could smell alcohol.

Jorah walked up to Viserys, splayed out on his sleeping mat. He gave his leg a sharp kick. 

“Your Grace” he said, loud enough to wake him up.

The Sorefoot King came to incomprehensible life, “What is it….?” he mumbled, still sounding drunk.

“I have western wine for you, I have just returned from the village for supplies.”

“The wine, give it to me.” he said groggily.

He had procured a special flagon of wine, just for the King. It was the same as the others, however Jorah had taken the liberty of dosing it with a strong quantity of Nightshade. Unethical, for sure, but it was enough to keep him out of the way for a day. It will at least keep him out of trouble to be sure. 

The boy took it greedily from his hand and downed half of it in one gulp. 

It took effect immediately as his head began to wobble, “It is not bad Morrr…” he didn't finish his sentence before he had passed out again.

Good. my plan is working well, Jorah thought to himself. He strode out of Viserys’ tent in the direction of the butchery. The boys had already been hard at work, cutting his pig into sizes.

“Do you know what bacon is?” he asked the two boys as he entered the tent. They couldn’t have been older than sixteen the pair of them. 

They nodded at the same time. 

“Good. I want you to cut enough bacon to last the Khaleesi until we get the Vaes Dothrak. I want you to cut off the ribs, the loin, the hocks, the leg ham and the head in preparation for a feast for this evening. There should be enough for everyone. Do we have rice?” said Jorah.

“Yes Andaali, there are a few bags left.” said the taller of the two. 

“When you are finished, hand the cuts to the girls and fetch the rice. I want you to cook the ribs slowly. Do not burn anything or I’ll have your heads. Understand?” he commanded.

“Yes Andaali.” they said in unison.

The whole camp was alive with activity at his orders, he stood in the middle of it all. There was a part of him that felt good that all these people were suddenly following his commands, he felt like a proper lord then surveying the preparations for a great ball. 

The lovely Doreah meandered out of the Khaleesi’s tent, smiling knowingly at him.

“This is an interesting plan you’ve gotten yourself into. Trying to butter her up are we?” she asked as she approached him.

“There’s no need for me to butter her up. I thought it might be entertaining for me, you and everyone.” he said innocently.

“Sure. Of course you are.” she stopped a few feet short of Jorah, sizing him up.

“What?” he said after he held her eye for a moment or two. 

“I wasn’t born yesterday, you know…”

“I never thought you were. What is it?” his own patience was waning with the bed slave.

Dorah smiled, “She could do a lot worse, I suppose….” and with that she continued to walk past him. Women like Doreah were triflers and had learned to stay away from them. 

He steadied himself, he shouldn't have been nervous but he was. He so desperately wanted her to have a good evening finally. He never had the taste for grand feasts much, even both of his wedding celebrations made him feel uncomfortable. But this would be different. He was older and supposedly, wiser.

They started the feast when it was dark and everyone in the camp seemed to be in a jovial mood. Children danced around the fires laughing and giggling, the women gathered in large groups to talk about their families and spread gossip; the men sat around comparing their weapons, armour and swords. The adolescents wooed each other under the bright moon and s

tars. It was warm, but breezy and the air smelled of roasted pig and spices. Jorah could not have wished for a better evening. Now that the more dominant members of the group had left for the hunt, there was less fear of a brawl or some inane offence that could cause a few people to lose their lives.

The Khaleesi looked naturally radiant and was excited to be showing off her new language skills to the different groups. Her hair was braided with soft bells and her handmaidens had painted light pink spirals on her shoulders as all the women had done, it was the colour of fertility, luck and good omens. 

For the first time she looked comfortable and at ease. She looked like a Dothraki. As the food was to be served, they had all gathered in the Great Tent, with the Khaleesi and her Bloodriders at the head. Everyone was given a cup of wine. Jorah was the last to enter.

As he walked to the middle of the room, the Khaleesi stood and raised her cup to him.

“I think we are all grateful to Jorah the Andal for organising this feat for us in the Khals (who is my Sun and Stars) absence. I have not hosted an event like this, but I wish you all a pleasant evening. Drink, eat and be merry! We will go to bed with our bellies full of wine and good cheer!” 

She brought the cup up to her mouth and downed the whole contents and then threw it into the brazier, surprising everyone.

“HO!” She shouted.

The tent erupted in the loudest cheers and laughs. Everyone else drank their wine and threw their cups in a likewise motion. 

“HO!” They all shouted. And the night was on.

  
  
  


It was an evening to be remembered firmly in Jorah's mind. He spent most of the night sitting on the right hand side of the Khaleesi. The pig had gone down famously. The pork has been marinated in a rich jerk sauce and served with fluffy spiced rice, the wine was a pleasant surprise as Jorah had not expected it to be that good for the price he paid. 

The people danced and there was no sign of Viserys to dampen the festivities. There was music and smiles, the Khaleesi laughed at his stiff japes and teases; there was a look on her face. As she was surrounded by those sworn to protect her, her handmaidens, Bloodriders and Jorah, and her people, she seemed at ease as she was accepted by a new family.

She leaned to him and placed a delicate arm on his wrist, “thank you, I did not expect anything like this. I have never felt so at home.” She said with a sweet smile.

He smiled warmly back and then placed his own hand atop hers.

“I do not deny that you have had a rough time of it. The truth is, I don’t think I know of any high ladies in Westeros that could cope with that you have had to put up with. I’m proud of you and you deserve this, to be loved.”

“You are too kind, Jorah. I hope one day to reward you with the same kindness that you have offered me.”

The tent got hotter and his thick wooden garments stuck to his skin all of a sudden. He could not help but grin adoringly at her. She appreciated his efforts and it was enough to make his heart sing with the look that she gave him.

But the darkness returned, reminded at once of his mission. He could not take the heat and had to escape at once.

He got up to leave, “I think it best I check on your brother, make sure he’s still out.”

“That’s a good idea, I have quite forgotten about him in the enjoyment of the evening.”

“Someone has to make sure he stays out of trouble.”

He shrugged and left the tent.

Too close, he thought angrily to himself. You are getting too close. 

But he felt rebellion in his logic, for a moment he didn’t care about returning to Bear Island or his Father. He thought of her and her dependence on him. The thought of breaking her heart with his betrayal seemed too much for his soul to bare.

He left the tent in a cloud of smoke, the air immediately rushed to his head and he felt dizzy.

This is too much… 

He went in the direction of Viserys’ tent. The rancid smell of the King hit him when he poked his head inside. The boy was still passed out. Jorah gave his knee a hard shrug in order to wake him but he only continued to snore, totally oblivious to the rising noise around him.

Assured that her brother would cause no disturbance to dampen the mood of the evening, he went back to the great tent.

The air had done him good and Jorah felt more conscious enough to quell his misplaced feelings towards the Khaleesi when he sat down beside her again.

The wine had helped things along nicely, he had never seen the Dothraki look so drunk. The drumming and the dancing continued, the jokes flowed and at near one in the morning she had placed her tired head on his left shoulder. Jorah shuddered but he had hoped it was not enough to arouse her suspicion.

She also looked a little tipsy as she was not used to being uninhibited. She had not drunk as much as everyone else but it still evidently hit her.

“I hope he doesn’t come back” she said to him in a low tone.

“You don’t mean that.” He replied, his voice as quiet as he could make it among the celebrations.

“No. I don’t. I don’t think he is bad. He is not easy to live with.” 

“Has Doreah been teaching you her lessons?” 

“She has. I am still unsure though. He is so much bigger than me. I don’t want him to get angry.”

“I don't think he will ever harm you. I have known Khal sometime, and he does not treat you the same as the others. He may actually like you.” He said, trying to be reassuring as he put his arm around her.

“Be brave. Be daring. Do the unexpected. Show your strength and I think he will love you forever.” He pulled away to look at her.

“You have it in you.” He smiled.

The Khaleesi looked unsure again. “If you say so.”

“I told you it would get easier. This is part of it.” 

“I wish he could be as gentle as you, I wish every man was for I have not met any like you,” she said with an almost mysticism about her.

His breath caught again. He could feel his heart plunging into adoration. Letting the waves of warmth wash over him and fill his soul. 

No. Not again. He would not let himself fall into this trap again. He would guide her, defend her but he could not fall in love with her.

He swallowed:

“He will be, you must show him the way to your heart.”

“I do not think I can. I can’t. He is too much for me.” She looked afraid.

“It is the way of the Khaleesi and you are strong. A weaker woman would have given up weeks ago” was all he could say back.

“This is dull talk.” She didn't look dulled, however. She seemed like she needed to forget about her worries as they were threatening to overwhelm her. She stood up and walked toward the dancing women in the centre of the tent, asking them to show her the way. It was good for her to spend some time of levity with women her own age and it only did more to endear the Silver Girl to her new people. She was the centre of attention in the tent and she owned magnificently.

It was at this time Jorah remembered the lyre he had bought and retrieved it from a storage space behind him. He looked at it, examined it and plucked a scale from his faint memories. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was not thought of as very masculine for a man to play an instrument in the North, and especially not on Bear Island where there were always more pressing concerns. 

But it reminded him of his mother; she was a cousin of Wyman Manderly and the pride of White Harbour in her youth. She was well known throughout the region as being kind, gentle and very pretty. Although not high in ranking, she was much sought after until her father agreed to a match of convenience, although he did offer the old Lord of Bear Island a generous dowry. 

She was whisked away from the cosmopolitan confines of the city to the harsh, jagged landscape of the Island. No doubt it must have been a jarring experience but she had apparently resolved to make the most of her situation, her beauty was also undercut with a quiet strength. She wouldn’t say boo to a goose but she also offered affection easily. In doing so, his mother had bought something warm out of Jeor’s icy exterior. 

She had started to teach him how to play when he was a boy. After rising at five for hours constantly drilling in the courtyard with his father and master-at-arms, he would look forward to the time when he could relax, sit on comfy sofas under cushions and listen to the soft melodies with a cup of hot tea and a biscuit. She was the only one who spoke to him softly and seemed to adore everything about him. Those memories seemed so precious and Jorah never truly appreciated them until now. He had locked them away with the rest of the pain that he refused to let himself feel. 

He was ten when his mother fell ill. It was ovarian cancer, there was nothing for him or anyone to do except watch as her strength depleted in the next months. He sometimes woke in the night to hear her cries of pain. He watched as his father slowly went mad from denial and eventually, grief.

He remembered their last conversation before she died. He didn’t want her to be upset so he wiped the tears from his eyes roughly before he was led into the bedroom by his matron. 

She was propped up with what seemed like a thousand pillows and looked so pale she was almost translucent. His father stood in the corner with his arms crossed tightly maintaining a shaken look on his face.

She immediately burst into a smile when she was aware of his presence, tears rolled down her own cheeks, but she used the last of her strength to give him the biggest grin he could muster.

“Oh there you are! My baby! Come closer to me…” She could not raise her voice much, so the quiet gentle way she called him broke Jorah even more. He started crying silently as he approached the bed, his mother smoothed his hair and cupped his cheek.

“It makes me so happy to see you baby. Have you been practising your lyre?” She asked sweetly.

He couldn’t find his voice, his eyes quickly darted to his father who offered him no support back.

He nodded.

“That’s good. You cannot spend your whole life fighting Jorah, you must also make room for music and poetry.”

“Yes mama” he finally managed to say.

“I’m so proud of you baby. I prayed to the gods for a beautiful boy and they gave me you. My whole life, it seems, led up to the moment you were born.” 

He held onto her hand and pressed her palm harder to his face, he needed to remember the warmth from her hand.

He had so many things to say and didn’t know where to begin, he started hyperventilating whilst trying to stutter the words out of his mouth.

“I...don’t...want...you...to...go…please...don’t...leave...m..e...alone…” he gasped in tears.

She wiped them from his eyes.

“I’m not going anywhere baby. I’m going to be right here, always with you.” She said gently. 

“But that’s not the same!” He shouted. It was unfair, unjust, not right. Jorah could not live alone with his father; he would never be good enough for him, but to his mother, he was perfect. She wouldn’t let Jeor shout at Jorah and she wouldn’t let his father beat him like other men did to their children. Without her, he would have no protection and no champion. 

“Come up here and lie with me. I want to hold you.”

Without warning Jeor, strode over to the bed, picked the boy up as if he were only a sack of flour and placed him next to his mother on the mattress.

He lay his head on her chest as she gathered her arms around him and held him tightly. 

“I’m never letting you go baby” she whispered into his ear. Jorah couldn’t stop the tears as he cried softly into her nightdress. He held onto her like she was a piece of driftwood in the ocean. 

“I love you mama” he said in pure anguish. It would be the last time he would say anything to her.

She kissed his forehead and stroked his hair, shushing him. He became calm enough that he eventually fell asleep in her arms. 

When he woke a few hours later, his mother was cold and stiff. 

_ Xxxxxxxxxx _

_ His father and he built her funeral pyre in near silence, except for when Joer barked orders at him. It was like the sun had gone out of the sky. The island did not look as green and lush as it normally did, it looked cold, dark and brittle, the people looked equally as sad and grey. His father had been teaching him how to swing an axe to cut down the wood needed.  _

_ He remembered the rush he felt when he finally had an outlet for his anger. He chopped and didn’t stop for hours. Jorah’s hands were painfully blistered all over, his back ached and his legs burned. It hurt but he felt good about it, he didn’t want to spend time in his bedroom thinking or dwelling. He constantly had to be doing something physical. He had not touched his lyre or his books. He drilled with his sword in the courtyard till his feet bled and was near passing out. _

_ Mealtimes passed in deafening silence, he could only stare in despair at his stew, only eating because his young, growing body demanded it. He always went straight to bed after dinner and rose early in the mornings to follow the same routine. _

_ The pain he felt all over his body was almost a relief to how he felt on the inside. All he could feel in his soul was either unbridled rage or unfathomable sadness.  _

_ Although still only ten, he didn’t feel like a boy anymore. He felt more like a glacier, rudderless in an icy sea.  _

_ When Jeor and him had finally gathered enough wood, they assembled everything as the whole island had gathered on the south beach where the tide was out.  _

_ The wind howled but the scene around him still looked sublimely beautiful; it was dusk, the sea lapped gently at the shore many metres away, the stars were illuminated and reflected from pools of water in the sand. The pink horizon collided with the navy night sky, a wonderful juxtaposition and the moon looked closer than he had ever seen it.  _

_ He wrapped his bear cloak tightly around him as he watched his father and the men place his mother's body on top of the pyre. _

_ There was no fanfare or grand eulogy as his father took a torch and sombrely lit the bottom of the stake. They stood side by side in characteristic silence.  _

_ “Life is suffering. Remember that boy.” Jeor said suddenly, gruffly.  _

_ “Yes father.” He replied quietly. _

_ And it had seemed, that for the next decades of his life, his father was right. Jorah had learned to accept that happiness did not last forever and always knew that joy would be followed by an inevitable downfall. Everything was always temporary and in some ways, in a chaotic world, that was a great comfort to him. _

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_ “ _ I did not know you played anything!” The Khaleesi exclaimed excitedly, dragging Jorah back into the present. He looked up from the lyre in his hands to see Daenerys and her handmaidens looking at him expectedly. Even the Bloodriders looked interested.

“Ah, I do not. It was merely a small hobby I had as a boy.” He said shyly. 

“But you still bought it. Trying to keep yourself entertained on the road?” She countered as she once again sat down next to him. It was very late at night now. Many people had already retired from the great tent and were occupied by more entertaining activities. 

The atmosphere now was very relaxed. Everyone left looked tired, the dancing was well and truly over and Jorah had to stifle his own yawn. 

He continued to pluck quietly, trying to figure out the strings and notes that he had forgotten. He approached the instrument with reverence and did not want to be heavy handed with it.

“I suppose you could say that. I just saw it in the market stalls and it brought back memories.” He said.

“Good memories I hope?” She asked.

“Yes. Very good memories. Of my mother and her songs.”

“Do you remember any of them? Can you play one? I’m not expecting a virtuoso performance but it would be nice to see what you know. I would not expect a tough man like you to be so….delicate….” 

“I know one. One that has been in my head for the last few days, it is from White Harbour where my mother was from. It is very…... sentimental.” He admitted.

“Show me” she said as she placed her hand on his arm and leaned into Jorah with an intense expression on her face. Her violet eyes were alive with wonder. 

He felt suddenly put on the spot. The song he had in mind was frightfully cliche and Jorah felt unsure. What if she took it as some sort of declaration? 

“Very well.” He found his courage again for he knew that he could refuse the Khaleesi nothing. 

He began to pluck softly and cleared his throat. He only sang to himself when no one was around. Still ashamed to show his softness after all these years.

He lowered his timbre and began to sing:

“Come little bit closer

Hear what I have to say

Just like children sleepin'

We could dream this night away

But there's a full moon risin'

Let's go dancing in the light

We know where the music's playin'

Let's go out and feel the night

Because I'm still in love with you

I want to see you dance again

Because I'm still in love with you

On this harvest moon

When we were strangers

I watched you from afar

When we were lovers

I loved you with all my heart

But now it's gettin' late

And the moon is climbin' high

I want to celebrate

See it shinin' in your eyes

Because I'm still in love with you

I want to see you dance again

Because I'm still in love with you

On this harvest moon”

He finished and looked around. The handmaidens had wistful tears of their own in their eyes, the Khaleesi had an unreadable expression etched into her young face.

“I’ve never heard a song like that…” said Doreah finally, breaking the tension. 

“....it was beautiful.” She concluded. 

“It is known,” said Irri as she wiped her cheek with the back of her hand. Rakharo and Aggo did not understand what he sang but looked equally moved with his performance. 

“Thank you for playing that, Jorah. I think we all enjoyed it a great deal. You have many talents.” Said Daenerys quietly.

Jorah inhaled greatly “a beautiful song to end a beautiful evening, ladies and gentleman, but now I think it’s time for all of us to retire.” 

They all nodded in agreement. They all looked tired out.

The Bloodriders led the Handmaidens out of the great tent by the waist, the girls smiled. It was a nice sight to see; young people so free and easy with themselves. Jorah certainly couldn’t see their Westerosi counterparts doing the same. Even Brandon Stark would not be so uninhibited, and he had seen some of the Wild Wolf’s most famed conquests in action.

Jorah had never really been that type of man, he was always the most modest of his group of friends at the time. He thought that they were not respectful of the commonfolk they continually harassed in their taverns after hunting, especially the girls. 

He took it upon himself to act as the moderator. Even Lord Rickard had remarked how good Jorah was at keeping his son out of trouble.

He begged Brandon not to go to King’s Landing the day the Wolf received the infamous letter from the Mad King. They called him a traitor to the North for not going with them. Rickard had personally told him to stay at Winterfell, they needed a loyal man to organise the minor banners and he was their unofficial representative, apparently. 

Many of the firstborn sons of the grander houses in the North had immediately offered to go with Brandon to prove their worth and hopefully gain station. His friend had refused to meet with him the day they departed; when the company eventually left Jorah watched from a turret as the boys went to meet their fates. Again, there was nothing he could do to stop any of it. 

It was the last time he saw any of them. In a lot of ways, he had wished Brandon and Rickard had lived. They would have given Bear Island more support than the Quiet Wolf, who only seemed interested in what the minor houses could give Winterfell. 

When he looked at the Khaleesi and saw the pain, isolation and emptiness he sometimes saw in her eyes, he couldn’t help but think of his friends. How inextricably linked their destinies seemed to be. Never in a million years did he think he would ever go out of his way to please the daughter of the Mad King. He almost abandoned the Khalasar when Magister Illiyrio had told him of the wedding because it seemed like far too much trouble for him to get involved in, apparently the Boy King would use the Screamers to enact revenge on King Robert and his allies. An unlikely prospect. 

But something, some curiosity had compelled him to stay. The girl had grown up far removed from her family and their legacy, constantly on the run it seems and he had admittedly wanted to meet the children of the madman who killed a generation of Northerners. He thought his modest gift of books would plant some sort of intellectual seed in her mind but knew that they would probably be ignored by the far more exotic and exciting gifts she had received that day. Yet, she had shown to appreciate them. It was a few days after when Jorah decided to stay and see if the Silver Girl could outgrow her father's shadow. 

And so, after weeks he realised he didn’t want to leave her. She was far the most interesting person he had met with the most unique story he had seen. If she could overcome adversity then he knew anyone could. 

Jorah had stood up from his sitting position, his back crack painfully when he stretched upright. The Khaleesi stood up with him. He put the lyre down by his feet and looked at the disorganised sight around him. The brazier was almost extinguished, the food had been eaten, the tent had looked a mess from a sea of discarded pillows and cushions scattered around him. The Khaleesi looked equally frazzled, her hair had formed a halo of frizz from the hours of dancing and there was a tipsy shine in her eyes. She had a friendly look on her face. 

“I would say tonight had been a success, what do you think Khaleesi?” He yawned triumphantly.

“Yes. I definitely think it has also been a lot of fun. I do feel more at home now that I have gotten to know then all better.” She smiled.

They stood facing each other in the dimmed light for a while in comfortable silence. Daenerys then brought his hands up and held them with her own, stroking his knuckles softly.

Jorah could not move. Or breathe. Or blink. He couldn’t do anything, he was held totally at her mercy. 

She breathed in:

“Thank you again. I’m so happy to have known you Jorah Mormont of Bear Island. I’m not sure how I would have survived any of this ordeal without your assistance.” 

“I….am only too happy to serve you, Princess. I have enjoyed getting to know you.” He tried to be diplomatic.

She cocked her head to the side like a puppy; “that’s one of the nicest things anyone has said to me, you know.”

“You deserve to have nice things said to you. All the time. You’re a lovely girl, if I may speak freely. Regardless of what your brother says or what the Khal thinks or does.”

“You must really stop with the compliments, Jorah, or else they may go to my head.” She laughed lightly. 

“Ah, well we can’t have that now, can we?” He reached to brush a stray braid that had come loose from her eyes. He could have sworn that she positively beamed at him. 

She reached up on her tiptoes and had planted a very quick and soft kiss on the corner of his mouth. It happens all too quickly for him to truly appreciate it. 

She leaned back down and sighed deeply, “no, we certainly can’t.” She let go of his hands and he missed her touch instantly. She took steps away from him towards the entrance, she turned back to him: 

“Thank you again Jorah, I doubt this will be a night I will ever forget.” And with that she left the tent.

Jorah finally felt able enough to to exhale and he did so for about two minutes straight.

_What an evening!_ He thought to himself and with that he retreated to his own tent. Jorah had found that after that night, he had never slept so well in his life. 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_ Memories. So many memories.  _ He thought it himself. He couldn’t stop them coming back to haunt him and torment him all over again. He rationalised it by believing that they were only some of his good memories, or at least, the ones he cared about. The moment that had meant something to him throughout the years.

It was also a good distraction from the pain he felt. He couldn’t move as he reckoned he would be sick if he did, he was dehydrated and had a severe migraine, it felt like every cell of his skin and his brain her being set on fire from the inside.

He should have cut off his arm when he had the chance. At least he could fight with his remaining right arm and it would have spared him the excruciating pain he currently felt.

He tried to focus on breathing exercises but he felt himself become weaker with every breath. His chest began to feel tight and heavy, as if someone was sitting directly on his heart and lungs. He wheezed painfully. 

Maybe he couldn’t have the chance to kill himself after all. Maybe this was the final end. 

He could feel himself becoming lightheaded, every time he closed his eyes they stayed shut longer. He concentrated on thoughts of his mother, he tried to remember the night with Daenerys in the big tent but it all seemed like he was desperately grabbing at fragments of paper in the wind. 

He wanted the Khaleesi's face to be the last thing he saw, he wanted the very brief kisses she gave him to be the last feeling. 

He couldn’t keep his mind functioning any longer and finally surrendered to the darkness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

He was sure he was dead. Had had to be. He was too weak. However, he sensed a faint light beyond his closed eyelids. Someone had lit the candle in his cell.  It took all the strength he had to open his eyes. He couldn’t move much but he did not see anyone standing over him. 

“Who goes there?” He just about managed to croak. 

He didn’t expect a reply, perhaps it was another delirious hallucination. 

“Me” said an impossibly small voice. He heard soft footsteps tread carefully towards him from the darkness.

He had to blink many times before he was able to comprehend the sight of the person the voice belonged to standing next to his bed. Of course he would not notice his presence.

It was a boy. 

He couldn’t have been more than five or six, his face looked too young, yet he was taller than Jorah expected. Maybe he was eight or nine. He wore a plane cotton shirt and had curly blonde hair, it almost looked like amber in the minimal light. He had a strong jaw, defined eyebrows and cut glass cheekbones. Jorah could make out faint pink freckles that barely dotted his nose. His eyes were so dark that Jorah could not make out the colour from where he lay, gazing up at the child. He was very broad and already had defined muscles from sword practice. He was incredibly handsome, he had an air of calmness to him and didn’t look afraid as another child would in the same circumstance. 

He squinted, confused. Perhaps this was some very young apprentice who had been wandering the Citadel after hours. 

“You should not be here boy.” Jorah barked. 

The boy turned his head to the side. 

“Why?” He said innocently.

“Because it is not safe. I am a dead man. I have greyscale. Even you being here might infect you.”

“You are not dead yet.” 

He was becoming frustrated with the child. 

“Get out boy!” He tried to shout at him as he raised himself on his elbows but had to abandon the action when he descended into a violent coughing fit. He felt cold sweat cover his uninfected skin.

He regained control of his breathing, gulping air through his mouth. His eyes flicked over to the boy who looked upset and disturbed by him.

“Fine. Who are you and what do you want? Can you at least tell me that?” He wheezed.

The boy suddenly became alarmed, his eyes flashed with a look of fear. 

“What is it?” Jorah said, agitated.

“I’m not sure how to tell you who I am.” The boy said in an unexpectedly low voice. 

“Start with your name. My patience is running thin.”

“My name is Aeon.” He replied, flustered.

“Aeon?” Said Jorah, incredulous.

“Yes” the boy did not elaborate.

He had never heard of anyone with that name before. Very extraordinary.

“And what do you want from me on my deathbed, Aeon?”

“You are not on your deathbed” he protested.

“I most certainly am. There is no hope for a cure. And if you do not leave you will get sick and die like me.”

“I know it’s not your deathbed” 

Jorah snorted as much as he could, “and how would you know that? The end is near. I feel it in my bones.” 

“I know it’s not your end because I know that you live.” Said Aeon, calmly. 

“How could you possibly know a thing like that, boy?” 

“Because I am not of this time.” Said Aeon, vaguely.

“That’s nonsense.”

“It’s not. How do you think I got here?”

“You snaked a key from your master.”

“No, I am here because I can be here, because I transcend time itself” 

“You are mad! You speak childish gibberish and you are wasting my final moments. Please leave, I would prefer solitude.” Jorah closed his eyes, hoping the boy to be a figment of his imagination. 

“Do you know what the Three-Eyed Raven is?” Said Aeon after a few quiet moments.

Jorah’s eyes snapped open. He turned his head to look at the boy, who now wore a serious expression.

“The Three-Eyed Raven is a fable in the North.” He said.

“No. First there was Brynden Rivers, the Bloodraven. Then there was Bran Stark, the Cripple. And now there is me, Aeon, the Sun King.” He said it as if it were common knowledge. 

“I have no idea what you are talking about. Even if what you say is true, the Three Eyed Crow cannot commune with people in the past or future, as far as I am aware. That is not in its power.”

“Yes that was true, before...Things have changed. My power has evolved. I was born to be this way and in the future, people need me. That is why I must help you.” 

“How can you possibly help me? I believe that you are lying to me. You are merely a delusion I am experiencing. Why me specifically?”

Aeon tilted his head to the side and smiled softly, “you are my father….”

He did not think that the boy would hold any more surprises for him. That was most definitely a shock. He didn’t know how to react at all.

“That’s not true. I don’t have a son. I don’t have any children.” Jorah shuttered.

“It’s true. You do not have a son  _ yet _ . As I said, I am from a different time.”

“Very well, if what you say is true and I still don’t believe a word of it, how will you help me?” He said dismissively.

Aeon said nothing, instead, he slowly raised his hand above Jorah’s exposed infected chest. He watched agape as the boy began to bring his hand down.

“Stop! Please! You will get sick if you touch me.”

He panicked, he couldn’t raise his own hands to stop him.

“No, I won't,” said Aeon, calmly. He placed his hand on the hard stone that covered Jorah’s heart. 

Jorah was totally shocked, unable to speak. The boy looked completely unafraid. 

Aeon beamed up at him, “you must keep the faith, father.”

Tears formed in Jorah’s eyes. For a moment, he would give into this delusion; there were too many questions to ask but he decided in the meantime that maybe his son had come to save him and he would embrace the feelings of love and pride that came with this inexplicable miracle. Something he never, ever thought could happen. He enjoyed this feeling and never wanted to let it go. Maybe it was a good way to spend his final hours.

Jorah swallowed, “When will I meet you then, son?” 

Aeon broke into a wide grin and moved his hand to place it on Jorah’s forehead,

“In time, papa, in time.”

He relished in the action. It was too pure and innocent, he doubted that if this boy was truly his son, he would not be as smiley. 

“I’m happy to meet you Aeon.”

“Me too.” He leaned away from the bed. 

“You need to rest. You have a big evening ahead of you. Be brave, be strong.” He said lightly.

“I’m sure you’re right.” Jorah was going to miss him. 

“I’ll see you. In time.” With that, he snapped his fingers and Jorah immediately fell into a deep slumber.

  
  
  


When he woke, he had found that much of his pain had subsided, although not fully gone. He felt more stronger than he had done, strong enough to lift himself out of his bed. He was sure he must have been over exaggerating how bad his pain was. He felt able to drink some water, he looked up at the barred window that cast the soft shadow of evening over his cell. 

He contemplated his dreams. He had seen too much. From the memories of his mother, to the night in the tent and then the odd vision of the blonde boy. Aeon. 

He remembered talking to him, he remembered being angry. He could not, however, remember much of what they had spoken of, only that he said he was somehow his own son.  _ How inconceivable _ , thought Jorah. 

He did not want to sleep any more and he did not want to rest. He wanted to make things right with Daenerys first before he could take his sword to his wrists. He sat down at the battered desk that held some books he had. He unrolled a scroll of parchment, dipped his quill into the ink, and began to write:

“ _ Khaleesi……”  _ he began.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Dany tapped impatiently. Her mind was far too occupied ignoring the small ornate clock on her desk. She was failing miserably to get any work done but her mind simply could not function anymore. 

She had spent what she had guessed as being around sixty hours in the last week looking at maps and other important documents, when she wasn’t doing that she talked endless strategies on horseback with Tyrion. Her conversation with Jon earlier did nothing to brighten her mood in the storm that howled outside her tent.

She eventually found herself staring into space for at least half an hour. She tried to distance her mind from the invasion by thinking about the coming intimacy with Jorah. He was going to kiss her, holder her, make her come like she hadn't been able to since they left Winterfell. 

Clock chimed with the hour.  _ One _ .  _ It’s finally time. _

She grabbed a thick cloak and wrapped it round her, and approached the entrance of her tent where her Unsullied stood guard. 

“I am restless. I am going to see the Dothraki for a while but I shall be back. If any of the Westerosi come, tell them I am asleep and shall not be disturbed.” She told them in Valyrian.

“Yes, Mhysa, do you want one of us to accompany you?” Blue Bottle asked.

She initially wanted to say no but considered that if she had one of her guards accompanying her, it would be easier to explain her late night excursion as ‘official business’. She also needed someone to help her through the mud.

“Yes, Black Flea.” He nodded and they set off into the dark downpour.

They walked in silence, Dany felt too exhausted to make small talk, and didn’t not know what to say to him either. She didn’t normally feel so awkward around the Unsullied which was odd but had a sense that perhaps Black Flea had something to say to her.

“May I ask you something, Mhysa?” He said quietly.

Dany was taken aback as he led her through the camped tents towards the Dothraki section. 

She turned to him, “of course, never think that you cannot ask me questions.”

“May I be called by another name? It was decided the day you liberated us that we would keep our slave names as good luck, but I do not like my slave name much.” He said softly.

“That’s shocking, I gave the order that you could all choose whatever name you wanted.”

“Yes, but the officers decided that we would keep them to honour you. I hope I have not caused offence.” He trailed behind her.

Dany was somewhat horrified, perhaps she needed to take a closer look at the structure of her infantry, she would not be blinded by corruption. 

“Please, tell me the name you wish to be called and I will make sure that you are not mistaken again.” She said authoritatively.

“Agamemnon. It is a family name.” He said simply.

“Do you remember your family? Can you go back to them?” She asked sympathetically.

“Yes, I was a little older than when most boys are taken to be trained. Pirates came to my village and killed all the adults. They stole the children and sold us. The girls became bedslaves and the boys became Unsullied.” He explained.

“I promise Agamemnon, I will find a way to seek justice on those who stole you all from your homes. When we have conquered Westeros, we will hunt them down, I swear it.”

They had entered the Dothraki encampment and Dany spotted the tack tent. She turned to Agamemnon and almost saw the hint of a smile under his helm. 

“Wait here until I come back please.” She instructed him.

“Yes Mhysa”

  
  


It was incredibly windy, the tents shook but were held firmly in place by spikes dug deep into the solid ground. 

She lifted the canvas of the entrance and was treated by a sudden wave of fiery heat and light. It surprised her but was nonetheless a welcome respite to the recent cold storms. 

“Ah, you made it.” Said Jorah brightly. Dany looked around, saddles, reigns and other equine maintenance equipment was stacked in different sections. Jorah had taken the liberty of lighting a brazier in the centre of the tent, he had arranged sleeping mats, blankets and cushions in a large sleeping space by the fire. It smelled of boiled leather, horse and smoke. She was naturally used to such scents so it did not bother her. She was just relieved to see him standing tall before her. 

She eyed him seductively and began to remove her cloak. “Did you think I would not show up?” She raised her eyebrow.

“Well it is late and it’s raining, I would have forgiven you if you wanted to retire for the night.” He chuckled softly. His arms hung loose at his sides, an indication that he had begun to feel more comfortable around her once again.

“I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” She said and held out her own hands to him. He took them gently and pulled her into his strong embrace. She wrapped her hands around his waist and hugged him tightly. He too, held onto her fiercely, pressing her small frame into his.

They had a quiet moment to bask in the freedom of holding each other. Jorah cleared his throat: 

“Do you remember, years ago, when we had a...party with the Dothraki?” He asked.

She smiled into his warm chest. “Of course I remember, it was a wonderful night. I think of it often. When you were gone it pained me as I began to suspect that it was a cold manipulation on your part. It made me sad.”

“I hope you never seriously believed that? My intentions were very innocent, despite everything else.”

“Well, I wasn’t sure what to believe at the time, but I’m happy now that I can again think of it fondly. I shall treasure it for the rest of my days.”

They were quiet once more.

“You sang beautifully, I would have you sing to me more often. Only in private, of course.”

She could feel him smile above her, “if that is what you wish. I need more practice though.” He said in his signature gravel.

“It was also the night of our first kiss…” she teased.

“Hardly, but I see your point”, he laughed lightly. 

“I think it’s a good milestone”, she leaned up and kissed him confidently on his lips, he was unprepared for her hunger and ferocity. She pulled him by the doublet down onto her mouth rough, smashing their teeth together on impact. His hands were all over her, trying to reach every inch of her body, her fingers had found their way to the back of his neck and threaded through his hair.

It was desperate, animistic and completely out of character for either of them to be so forward but they had missed each other deeply, and did not want to waste precious time. 

In moments they were panting against each other after their mauling, sloppy kisses. It was more than a rush, it was pure heat and energy.

They separated slightly, breathed and laughed at their combined excitement. Jorah cupped her whole cheek in his large hand and smiled softly at Dany. She gazed back at him in equal devotion.

They kissed again but this time it was slower and more methodical, simply enjoying the taste of the others lips. She could feel him harden under his loose fitting cotton breeches. She trailed her hands down from his chest to cup his bulge earning her a deep moan from him into her mouth. She began to undo the laces as he ran his hands down her back and grabbed her ass roughly.

She broke the kiss and stood back from him briefly to pull his trousers down to his knees, freeing his stiff length. She gently wrapped her fingers around his girth, Jorah let out a sharp exhale and leaned his head back. Dany could see his jaw and the prominent apple in his throat tense. 

“Fuck, I can’t tell you how good it feels when you do that.” He said to her as she began to tug him gently. 

She leaned up to kiss his neck, she sucked on the spot where his pulse was, speeding up her hand movements. 

“I like making you feel good….” she said in her lowest voice in his ear.

They kissed again deeply as he moved his right hand from her ass to clutch her covered breast. It was her time to moan now. She had decided to forgive any ornate dress or outfit and decided to opt for her usual night shift and boots to make the process easier. Her hair was in half braids that Jorah had run his hands through, she looked thoroughly unkempt. 

He also looked similarly dishevelled, his cheeks were flustered and his heart raced. He began to undo his doublet in as quick a time as possible. So quick, he had probably ripped it. He discarded it by her cloak, he now stood in a loose shirt that revealed some of his greyscale scars on his chest and shoulders.

Dany gathered it in her hands and pulled it off him in a fluid motion, as soon as she had, she began kissing and caressing his scars.

He took this opportunity of distraction to pull off her own shift, when she was naked, he covered her skin with his wandering hands, caressing her thighs, hips and breasts. She stepped out of her boots and kissed him again. He started to lean down to remove his own boots which Dany had helped to take off. When they were discarded, she pulled his breeches down to his ankles which he then toed off. She knelt in front of him, now running her own hands up and down his legs. 

She returned to jerking him, seeing the pleasure etched into his face. She smiled sweetly up at him and confidently took his thick cock into her mouth. Jorah almost shouted but seemed able to maintain himself by covering his mouth with his hand. His heavy groans delighted her, more arousing than any other powers she held over men. 

She pulled away to look at him, her whole chin covered in saliva. 

“Do you enjoy that, when I do it to you?” She asked innocently.

“Ha! Yes I think that it’s not bad!” he half mocked with a wide grin stretched across his face. 

“Good”

“You really don’t have to do it, it’s a lot. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, I’m not expecting it.” 

“Have you considered that maybe I like having your cock in my mouth?” Said Dany, deadly serious.

“Well, if you like it, by all means, don’t let me stop you.” 

She raised her eyebrow, “I won’t.”

Once again she sucked on him, revelling in the sensation of his hardness on her younger and at the back of her throat. She wanted to remember every aspect of how he felt; she was not sure when, if ever, she would be able to do this to him. When she pulled back next, there was a long trail of spit leading from her mouth to the top of his head. They maintained an indescribable eye contact, both of them surprised at their mutual passion. 

He leaned down to capture her mouth with his own, eventually kneeling with Dany, their naked bodies pressed together by the fire. She caught Jorah off guard by pushing him backwards onto the mats forcefully. He raised his eyebrows in amused shock. 

She moved to straddle him and sat on top of his thighs, leaning down to kiss up and down his chest. She shuffled up more, hovering over his groin, placing one arm by his neck for balance, she carefully took his cock and guided it towards her core, stroking her soft spot with the head. 

They both moan in unison at the action. Jorah assisted Dany by reaching behind her and helping him find his way inside her. The moment she sensed contact, she hissed and threw her head back. Normally she would have used her fingers to relax herself in order to take his thickness, but this time she wanted to feel him slowly filling her. It was slightly painful but a good kind, tight, and was forgotten about when he placed his hands either side of her hips and thrust up powerfully into her.

She could only swear and moan, all rational thought didn’t seem possible. Her body welcomed its intruder gladly, she could feel herself clenching him which he evidently enjoyed. 

She began to rock her hips but found an unsteady rhythm difficult to maintain. She pulled his hands roughly from her hips to her breasts, caressing them firmly. He rubbed his thumbs over her nipples as she in turn ran her hands over his torso. 

He removed his right hand from her chest to her wetness and earned a quick yelp from Dany. He played with her there, gently touching where he knew she liked, matching his pace with her rocking on top of him.

“Oh fuck, right there, keep it there” she gasped. Whilst he rubbed her clit he continued to thrust upwards, hopefully creating many different types of sensations for her. 

She came quickly enough. He was far too good at doing this to her and knew the right amount of pressure at the right point to send her off the edge of her climax.

Jorah moved his hands to her hips again, grabbing them roughly, he used all his power to thrust upwards and pulled her down to move in sync with him. 

She started to wail loudly and helplessly. Luckily enough they were surrounded on all sides by Dothraki, who would not give them away or divulge their tryst. 

He wrapped one of his arms around Danys waist and flipped them over, manoeuvring himself over her. He loved being able to spread her legs wide for him and the feel when she crossed them over his back. 

He hooked her knees over his shoulders and pressed down deeply into her taking the opportunity to kiss her sweetly. Her eyes widened at the new depths she felt from him. She traced her index finger down the films of his spine which made him shiver. Every way she touched him seemed exquisite. 

It was all too much for him. He sped up, relentlessly pounding her, having her almost scream into his mouth until he spilled. He collapsed on top of her, panting wildly into her ear.

“Fuck” was all he managed to say.

He released her crushed legs from his shoulders. Even Dany began to feel a crap in her calves from the excursion.

She stroked his neck tenderly, “that was vigorous.” She laughed.

“Absolutely. Damn. And a lot of fun too. I hope you enjoyed it.” He rolled off her body and lay beside her flat on his back, both starting up into the ceiling. 

“I think I’ve always wanted you to fuck me here.” 

He looked confused, “where, here in the tack tent?”

She giggled at his sincerity, “not quite. I’ve always wanted to make love to you in a Dothraki tent.”

He turned to face her, “why? I mean, I know I wanted to, but you?”

“Imagine if we had been free to do so, every night together in the Sea...in a tent.”

“Hopefully not raining.” He added. The storm had calmed down, and it seemed like only drizzle tapped on the canvas above them. 

“Do you think we could find a way to do this again soon? Nothing regular to avoid suspicion, but I need to feel you again.”

“Where there’s a will there’s a way. I will sort something, probably next week.”

She smiled and pulled him into a kiss.

“Good.”

They moved to their sides and faced each other, Dany’s back against the hot brazier like a massage. 

More comfortable silence followed and they gazed at each other. 

“There is a reason as to why I’m going back to Bear Island after the war. I’m not abandoning you, it’s very hard to explain….”

“No, I understand, honestly I do. I would love to snap my fingers and have us married like that, but I have a lot of loose ends to tie up, as I’m sure you do.” 

“Yes. You could definitely say that.” He cupped her cheek again, “Whatever happens, I’m coming back to you. Wherever you are, I will go.” 

“I know you will, I have utter faith in you.”

Jorah moved his arm so Dany could use it as a pillow. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, holding her close. 

“You and me. Against the world.” He sighed, staring up at the canvas.

“Changing the world” she corrected him.

“Ah yes, of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> For Katie


End file.
